


Burning the Lace Curtain

by RavenAurelieChoiseau



Category: The Departed (2006)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Caring, Come Eating, Comfort, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Feelz, Homophobic Language, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sex, Irish Mob, Kindness, Kissing, M/M, News, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Phone Calls & Telephones, Protectiveness, Slash, Surprise Kissing, Swearing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, good news
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-03-10 04:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18931720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenAurelieChoiseau/pseuds/RavenAurelieChoiseau
Summary: Sometimes the desperation of one man brings out the long-hidden affection of another.Billy is scared out of his mind for his life. Sean learns he can be compassionate when he least expects it (but perhaps most needs it also himself?).





	1. Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Summaries are not my forte but I hope you like it! This is my first "Departed" fic but I've been wanting to write them for years. This occurs sometime after the Queenan incident but before Dignam goes on leave so I've played with the timeline (and what occurs in here of course is not canon).  
> Rated mature for implied sex and all the swearing. Cuz there is a ton.

What are those last ribs called? Billy thinks. The ones that move so much. They must have fucking names. Everything has a name, doesn’t it?  
He remembers reading it somewhere… maybe in some decade-old Reader’s Digest in his father’s bathroom? The ones with oil-stained page corners and ripped-off address labels because fuck if his Pops would ever  _subscribe_  to that fucking magazine. Or any magazine for that matter.  _Payin’ to read something?_  
Nah. His old man used to nick ‘em once in a while from the newsstand when Tommy wasn’t looking, or take them directly from old lady Fagan’s mailbox.   
  
_False ribs._  
That’s what they are. Not relevant to the situation per sé but at least now he knows what the weight pressing on his sternum and the fear clenching his heart is causing to expand, to the point his chest is gonna explode.   
A tendril of panic seizes him, making the air freeze directly in his lungs. Billy hiccups, the back of his right hand nursing his damp forehead while the other splays over his thrumming heart.   
_Fuck._  
Are there any more Oxy pills left? he wonders. But he knows better. There aren’t pills to cure this. Only one thing can cure this.   
Skin sweat-slippery, it’s warm to the touch beneath his fingertips as his hand travels from his brow to his aching eyeballs. He rubs. Hard.  
The base of his palm pushes them deep into his sockets until it’s a fireworks show behind his lids and a percussion band between his ears.  
  
Billy shivers before lying still again. The room feels like it’s sweltering but there’s ice in his veins.   
“Fuck this,” he breathes.   
Pool-water eyes shoot over to the duffle bag on the floor. It sags open like a screaming mouth, off-white tube socks and rolled up t-shirts visible from the gap like crooked teeth.   
_I’m getting the fuck outta here._  
  
Almost as if in response, the coffee table vibrates a moment later. Billy stiffens. Trembling fingers reach over and pick up one phone of the two. He moves the gun over an inch to get at it.   
The  _safe_ phone has a text message. “About fucking time,” he mutters.    
The phone splits open between his slick fingers, words shadowing the lit screen. He squints to read it.  
**Stay there. Don’t fucking move. Meet tom usual place.**  
“Oh fuck you!” he says to no one present, though he hopes to say it to Dignam soon enough. Once he’s far away.   
“FUCK YOU!”  
  
He types in a hasty reply and presses Send. The phone flies from his hand to the cheap carpet and bounces once. It lands by Billy’s bare foot, the one hanging off the edge and perched on the floor.  Billy fixates it, nostrils flared. His fists clench at his sides, opening and closing. Opening and closing.   
Fucking Dignam. Arrogant prick. Arrogant prick with his shirts and ties and his fucking badge and title while Billy’s here eating shit for Costello.  
Costigan’s reached out three times already and that dickhead has his head buried so far up his own ass… Billy’s gonna be damned if he’s just going to wait around here to be killed. It’s a miracle it hasn’t fucking happened already after what transpired with Queenan. In fact, time’s running out. Fuck waiting until tomorrow.   
  
Finnigan’s warped door scrapes open upstairs with a low screech, followed by his booming footsteps down the corridor. It’s something Billy has heard a thousand times, but it still makes him jump. He’s so on edge anything will set him off.   
“Shit!” His tongue darts out of his mouth and Billy licks his parched pink lips with a papery tip.   
“That’s it!”   
Swinging both legs out over the sagging sofa, he sits up. Thinks about lighting a cigarette but the feel to his slick skin disgusts him and he decides on a shower instead.   
Yup. He needs a shower before he takes off.   
  
-  
  
Floorboards give and bend under his weight as he walks the path to the bathroom. Billy blinks ghosts from his eyes when he turns on the light. Stealing a glance to the mirror, he makes a quick assessment.   
Yeah, he looks like shit.   
Tired.   
Face drawn.   
Eyes puffy.   
Sandy hair about as disheveled as short hair can get, but you can see the lines raked through where his fingers had been nervously rubbing moments ago.   
  
Billy turns on the rickety shower, the knob squeaking as it lands on H. The cold floor under his feet is a striking contrast to the warming air, condensation streaking the chipped tile walls in no time.  
“Fuck,” he whispers. The headache is getting worse. He’s starting to see stars.  
Using his thumbs to pull them down, Billy leaves his boxers bunched up in the sink, right next to the gun he’s been carrying all over the house.   
Drawing the grimy shower curtain shut, two strong arms brace against the wall as Billy lowers his head under the stream. The rusty smell of hard water hits his nose, hot drops like needles against his back and shoulders.   
  
-

“Goin’ somewhere?”   
Billy utters an indrawn gasp as he steps back into the bedroom, only a towel sheathing his waist.   
“The fu-“   
Dignam sits on Billy’s bed, one dark eyebrow raised and a smirk painting his lips. His legs spread, one knee on each side of the poorly sheeted corner.  Dignam poises his arm in the air, the straps of the duffle in his grip.   
He lets it drop to the floor with a low thud.   
  
“Jesus fucking Christ Dignam I coulda fucking shot you!” Billy’s cry clips the silence.   
“What? With this?”  His free hand shows off Billy’s gun. It swings back and forth in mockery from Dignam’s long finger.  
Instinctively Costigan looks over to the sink where now only his underwear remains. The fucker stole in here and took my gun to prove a point, he thinks.   
“You asshole…”  
“You really oughta be more observant, Costigan. And careful. I fucking walked right in here it took me all of two seconds to pop the lock.”   
  
Disapproval gleams in Billy’s eyes. Dignam shifts in his place, eyes trained. Water beads on Billy’s chest like on good butter and Dignam catches himself staring. Even though he doesn’t know  _why_ he’s staring precisely, he can’t help his gaze traveling down Billy’s sculpted torso and back up to his full lips. He’d never seen Costigan shirtless and honestly…   
_The fuck? What are you doing, Sean?_  
  
Costigan surveys him quietly. Confusion creeps up into his weary brow. What's he on about?  
“I’ll be sure to tell the landlord that the security conditions around here are unsatisfactory. Now why are you here, Dignam? If it’s convincing me to stay you got another thing comin’.”  
Billy points to him as he says it, walking towards the bag on the floor. Dignam looks down and kicks it partially under the bed.   
“You’re not fuckin’ goin’ anywhere, Billy. You’re gonna see this through. For Queenan. For your bonus. I know you sure as hell won’t do it for me, but trust me. We need to end this.  We’re _so_ fucking close.”  
At the mention of the Captain’s name Billy flinches. Their gazes catch and something soft in Billy’s face makes Dignam’s heart lurch.  
  
“Nah. No way. I’m an inch from falling off a building, too, Dignam. All you’re doing is getting me killed faster. Fuckin’ Costello is breathin’ down my neck. His goons… Unless you wanna be attending my fucking funeral you’re gonna pass me that bag and let me go. Fuck the bonus and FUCK YOU!”   
  
Dignam is almost amused. Crosses his arms over his broad chest in defiance. “No can do, champ. I’m still your boss in case you fucking forgot-“   
“No. I haven’t fucking forgotten  _sergeant_  because you won’t fuckin’ let me!”  
Billy notices a twitch in Dignam’s expression when he calls him sergeant. How his frown has relaxed.  
What games is he playing with him?!  
“Costigan watch yourself…”  
  
He’s so exhausted he thinks he might be imagining the whole thing. It’s just too overwhelming. The sneaking around, the constant lies. Looking over his shoulder and what about all the sleepless nights trying to make the oil stain on his wallpaper change shapes by sheer will?!  
All so he doesn’t have to fucking think about dying and how alone he is and how he’s gonna fucking DIE ALONE…  
  
Billy’s posture goes limp. He threads a hand through his silky hair, cornflower eyes shadowed and huge as he drops to his knees. Tears well and spill over.  
“Billy… “ Sean reaches out.  
Costigan hunches over, arms resting on his exposed thighs. Dignam half-rises, a sudden rush of heat surging into his limbs.  
“Billy…”  
Fuck, Dignam thinks. He looks so fucking forlorn… so vulnerable. Suddenly a steel ball rolls over in his stomach.  
Is it worth it? Fuck this is just a scared kid he’s supposed to be protecting on some level. Instead, here he is sending him directly into the hornet’s nest.  
“Billy…” he repeats.  
Costigan leans forward, blinking up at him as if he’s just realized he’s still there.  
“Don’t make me do it, sarge,” Billy begs, shaking his head from side to side as if wanting to knock something out of the forefront of his mind with violence.  
“Fuck… Costigan… listen… “  
  
Dignam goes against better judgment.  Leans down in front of him, propped on his knees. Two large, warm hands cup Billy’s bare shoulders. A pleasant smell of body soap wafts over to him and his index finger unconsciously butterfly plays with the sharp of the bone.  
_What the fuck are you doing Sean?_ His brain asks himself. He doesn’t listen. Grips tighter. Bill slumps underneath his touch in despair, palm closing flat over Dignam’s firm bicep.  
“Sarge…”  
“Kid… talk to me… “  
  
Billy tries to grab hold of his words and make sense of what he wants to say. What’s prisoner in his heart is trapped behind his teeth and now they’re chattering.  
His next words fall shaky and clipped.  
  
“Don’t make do it. I’m not like other people. I… I ain’t cut out for this. Costello is gonna kill me and I don’t wanna fucking die.” An octave higher now, his voice strains and the sheer sadness tears at Sean’s chest.  
“I know no one will fucking miss me but I don’t want to die yet, sarge.”  
  
He buries his burning face into the corded muscles of Dignam’s right pec as soon as he spits the last word. Dignam’s throat has constricted so much he can barely breathe.  
“Jesus Fucking Christ,” he sibilates. He doesn’t try to stop the hot tears forming in the corner of his own hazel eyes. He pulls him off, and Billy fingers his shirt experimentally, as if testing the command he has over his digits.  
“Dignam, please… “  
“Jesus look at you, kid… “  
Those goddamn liquid eyes beseeching him. The quivering lower lip. He touches it with his thumb, lightly at first and then with increased pressure. The rest of his fingers curve under Billy's bearded chin.  
His other hand fans apart on the back of Billy’s head.  
“Fuck Billy. _Fuck_.”  
“Sarge…” Billy blinks. Squeezes his eyes shut a moment just to gather air.   
“Call me Sean,” Dignam whispers.  
The raw warmth of Dignam’s touch, a bit crude but caring… it makes Billy feel safe. His rib-stretching gasps have deepened as his pulse races now for another reason.  
  
Costigan doesn’t know exactly what happened. How they found themselves on the floor of his bedroom with Sean fucking Dignam cradling him and now he’s looking from Dignam’s almond eyes to his lips and he wets his and so does Sean and then…  
Christ Almighty one single tear falls and lands on the peak of Billy’s heart-shaped lips and that’s it for Sean…  
  
Dignam pushes him against the floor with force enough to drive the soul out of Billy. They sink into each other, the hard places of their bodies enfolding one other.  
Teeth clash. Tongues explore once timid mouths gape.  
Hands tug on fabric and zippers. Buttons pop and between moans and the sound of their names being uttered like a litany, Sean shyly finds his way to the loose knot on Billy’s towel and then to his turgid cock beneath.  
The towel drops open like the flaps of Dignam’s fly.  
Billy’s quivering fist closes around Sean’s stiff sex as he bucks into him.  
  
One prays for salvation for sins committed and the other for absolution for something he's about to do.  
  
-

They lay panting, the damp sheet curled up at their feet. Two inclined heads share Billy’s one thin pillow.  
“I’m not a fucking faggot,” Dignam announces as he looks Billy directly into his sea eyes. Billy’s hung a lopsided grin on his face.  
“Yeah. Sure Sean. Me neither.” He leans in, tracing Sean’s lips with the tip of his tongue until he makes him smirk.  
  
There’s a huff in Dignam’s laugh, as if he just came up for air from underwater. “Fuck you, you lace-curtain Irish prick.”  
Billy chuckles, his flushed breast rising and falling. “Right. Didn’t I say I was gonna kill you once, sarge? Maybe it's time to burn that lace curtain, huh?”  
The back of Sean’s hand caresses Billy’s strong jaw, traveling until it reaches the hollow of his throat.  
He nods slowly and presses a kiss there.  
“Yeah, you did. And maybe you're not that lace curtain anymore, Costigan. By the way, you still owe me a coffee ya fucker. You threw mine into the goddamn river that day, remember?”  
“Yeah, I remember.”  
  
The quiet calm on Billy's face scares him. Sean’s expression tenses all of a sudden, marred by worry. His thin eyebrows draw together.  
“How bout you buy me that coffee in New York?”  
Billy’s mouth slackens. “New York? What? You lettin’ me go?”  
Costigan half sits from excitement. Dignam rolls over, covering his eyes with an open hand. When he looks back, seeing himself in the mirror of Billy’s eager sky eyes, he decides to do the right thing.  
  
“Yeah. Just until we get Costello, kid. Cuz it ain’t true…”   
The words linger in the air, fragile like paper lanterns.  
“What ain’t  true?” Concern grows on Billy’s face as he listens.  
  
Sean hesitates. Plucks a fallen eyelash from the apple of Billy’s cheek. “What you said earlier. About nobody missing ya. It ain’t true. Cuz… “  
Billy rests his face against the taut smoothness of Dignam’s shoulder and exhales.  
“Cuz what?” He needs to hear Sean say it. He needs to know it’s fucking real and not all just some wishful dream his grief-stricken mind made up.  
  
“Cuz I’d fucking miss ya, all right? Ya fucking ballache. You’re my responsibility and I don’t want you on my fucking conscience, okay? Queenan was enough to fuck with me I don’t need you too… and we still haven’t found the rat and _Jesus fucking Christ_ are you gonna make me say it?” _I care for you, ya Irish prick._  
  
Billy’s belly tightens into knots strong enough to tether a sail. He smiles to himself knowingly. Nah. He doesn’t need to hear it and Dignam wouldn’t fucking say it out loud, anyway. He can read it in his eyes.   
“So it’s just because you don’t want me on your conscience… ?”  
Hand pressed to his side, Sean pulls Billy closer until their chests are fully touching.  
“Course. Why else?” he replies with a smirk.


	2. Deliverance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean has some news for Billy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We continue in the non-canon version of what I would have liked to happen in the film.

 

_Even in the line of fire_

_When everything is on the wire_

_Even up against the wall_

_Our love is untouchable_

-

“It’s over.” It’s the first thing Dignam says. He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t ask how Billy is.  
Costigan’s state of mind is something not alien to him at all. Pushing away clogging drowsiness, when he hears the words Billy wakes to attention and lays still. The phone is cool against his sleep-flushed cheek.

“What?” he mumbles.

His mind goes blank. Billy wonders if he heard right in the five-second pause that ensues. The back of his hand touches his forehead in a gesture more of instinctive disbelief than alleviation.  
It’s been so fucking long!

Dignam clears his throat. The exhaustion of the previous days has left him with a groggy disorientation.  
"Billy? You there?”

“Yeah, I’m here… “

“Billy… I said it’s over. We fucking got him. I’m...”  Sean chokes out. Can’t finish the rest. Instead, Billy’s relief is hidden by a low breath. Dignam can’t see the subtle rise to his eyebrow or know there’s an almost hysterical giggle forming in his belly.

“That’s great news. Great fucking news! I thought this would never end.”

Billy searches blindly for the pack of cigs he left on the table. The lighter nearly falls from his slippery grasp, the metal cold against his fingertips when he pops the top. The zip of the lid and the striker are the only other sounds in the dark room, the background his thundering heart.  
The cigarette trembles at his lips as he lights it. He can hear Sean breathing on the other end.  
Waiting patiently.  
Giving him time to digest.

The words are there, but they twist up in his throat. Billy’s not sure if he should say it. If this is the right place or time but Jesus Fucking Christ on a cracker… he might have never lived to see this come to pass. Not remotely. Not without Sean’s help. He still recalls their last words, murmured in semi-darkness from the front seat of a shitty undercover cop car.  
Two phrases.   
Not the ones they probably wanted to profess, sure, but the ones they had to in order to save some face. It’s not easy to be emotional, when death is on the line and it's your job to manage it.

“Take care kid. May St. Jude protect your Irish ass.” The way the slice of light glaring from the wall besides the depot cut through the window and hit Dignam’s coffee eyes, wide in trepidation… it broke Billy’s heart.  
“Godspeed, Sean,” he had replied in a breath, voice a tremor. He ached to look away so Sean wouldn’t see him tear up but he also desperately wanted nothing more than memorize every feature of his face.

Just in case.

Just in case. 

“Please find him… and stay safe. Don’t get yourself killed.  
  
*

Fuck it. What’s he got to lose? It’s not like Dignam doesn’t know. Hasn’t imagined.  
He flicks ash into the empty coke can perched on the edge of the end table and aligns his words like Scrabble tiles.

“Sean… “

Dignam shuts his eyes and presses the receiver to his ear with bent shoulder. His breath stops short. Fingers twist on the emptiness of what was once his wedding ring.  
“Yeah kid?” he whispers.  
There’s another pause. A low exhale.  
“I’ve missed you, Sean.” Billy’s voice is so quiet you could probably drown it out by sneezing. 

Dignam’s holding up the wall now. Head resting on his bicep, hand splayed on the filthy precinct message board for support. He can’t help but bite into his lip.  
Fuck. Sean’s missed him, too. So fucking much. He didn’t expect to, but he has... and hearing that break in Billy’s voice just now when he said Sean’s name… fuck!  
It all comes rushing back. The heat mounts in his cheeks like it did his body that night.  
The taste of Billy’s soap and musk manifests itself on his tongue.  
His spend like brine on lips as his papery tongue passes over them.    
It’s like a movie in slow-motion projecting in front of his lids but he’s also reliving it in sensations.  
  
The pressure on his skin…. Billy writhing on him… Billy trapped by his strong arms, and Sean inebriated by his very essence.  Fucking so LOST in the moment, the both of them, that if Frank fucking Costello had walked in on them, neither would have noticed.  
“Sean… “ This is Billy on the other end of the line but this is also Billy coming so hard that night, falling into him onto him with him-  Billy's breathless violent release fountaining in warmth on their stomachs.  
It made Sean break in turn. Inside Billy.  
“Without word or warning,” Dignam says without realizing.

Sean, his name, dropped from Billy’s slick fucking lips over and over and over…  
“Sean? What?!” Billy's confused. What's he talking about?  
The question breaks his trance, shaking Dignam back into the moment. “Yeah, Billy. Sorry. I’m here. I just… “  _I can’t say it. Why can’t I say it?!_

It’s been 4 months, that’s why. Sean hasn’t touched anyone since that night. He himself isn’t sure of the exact reason. He’s been using the stress of the case as the main excuse. The raw hollow he felt in the pit of his stomach… the one when he’d chucked Billy’s duffle into the sedan and driven him to the station… that steel ball just never went away.  
Why’d he want to fuck some barfly, anyway? It would never compare to what happened with Costigan. He’d never felt anything like that before.  
Fuck. This kid has gotten under his skin, he thinks. Sean puts him on a bus to New York, not knowing if he’s ever going to see him again, and…  he goes and loses himself in the memory of him.  
  
A swift brush of fingertips and a lingering gaze… that was our only fucking goodbye.

 

Billy’s heart is fighting for space in his chest. His phone hand quivers as he puts out the cigarette nervously against the tin, grinding the filter in a circular motion.  
Did he fuck this up? Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything?  
“Sean, I-“  
“I’m coming to get you, Billy.” It’s a fact. His conviction doesn't lie.

Costigan’s forehead smooths and he sits back, pushing his shoulders into the cushions. Before he can reply Sean continues.   
“Unless… “ Dignam’s gaze pushes and pulls at all the tired faces passing him by. “Unless you’re suddenly a fucking Yankees fan and wanna stay in New York.” He chuckles, trying to break the tension sizzling over the phone line.

Billy smiles to himself, wipes a tear from the corner of his eye with his middle finger. Pulls another stick from the pack and the end of his next cigarette milks an orange flame as he takes a drag to light it.  
"No fucking way. I wanna come home, Sean.” _I wanna come home to YOU, Sean._    
Watery eyes dart to the window, the pulled shades blot out the gauzy gray shadows on the street beyond.  
He grins. He's getting outta fuckin' Staten Island.

A shadow of relief paints Dignam’s face. “I’m putting you on a plane tomorrow morning, Billy. My brother Connor is gonna pick you up with the tickets tomorrow at 8 and drive you to JFK. Alright? I’ll be at Logan to pick you up.”  
Robin-egg eyes dart to the clock. Just a few hours and he gets to see Sean again. Shake his hand. Hug him. Smell his hair if they embrace and maybe...  
Maybe even… ?

“Sure. Perfect. I’ll be ready.” Lust betrays him, the grit to his voice returns.  
Dignam drags a hand through his hair, shifting from left to right on wobbly legs. “Your stuff still fit into the duffle?”  
Billy snickers. “Course.”  
Two fingers rub the tension from the space between Sean’s eyebrows. Billy tucks a leg beneath him and sucks in air until the filter is the only thing remaining between index and thumb.

“Listen, Sean. I don’t got a place to stay. You think the BSPD can help me out for a few nights until I get a line on somethin’?”

The look on Sean’s face mingles eagerness and tenderness, softening around its hard edges. If only Costigan could see. “Don’t worry about it, kid. I already got it sorted.”  
“Alright thanks. Thanks. Thanks for… everything, Sean.” Billy means it. Says it rushed as if he were uttering something sinful.

_Everything._

An unused spoon twists between Sean’s fingers, restlessly twirling to and fro. The heart-rending tenderness of Billy’s tone makes his pulse hammer.

“No problem. You’da done the same for me.” He knows this to be true. Billy would have.  
A dog barks somewhere outside his apartment and Billy flinches. Jesus he's been on edge for what seems an eternity.  
“Sean, what happened to Costello?”

It’s late. Dignam’s exhausted. He just wants to lie down and let the hours pass so he can see Costigan again.  
“I’ll explain what happened tomorrow when I see ya, okay?”  
Palming the phone, Billy trains it to his ear. One last phrase… just a few seconds more of hearing his voice. “Okay, Sean.”  
“Try to get some sleep, alright Billy?”

Sleep. As if I’m going to be able to sleep, he thinks. “Yeah. Sure thing. See ya tomorrow Sean,” he sighs.  
Dignam gulps, swallowing back the emotion tightening against his ribcage.  
“Yeah kid. See ya tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to make this a 3-chapter fic. I like where their dynamic is going. Thanks to anyone who read it, I really appreciate it.  
> Hope you like it. I'm coming out of one of the worst writer's blocks I've ever had and just had to post something to break free from it.  
> The lyrics at the beginning are from the song by Kristian Kostov - Beautiful Mess.
> 
> I think the formatting got a bit weird and so the spacing is bigger than what I intended. I tried to fix it but it keeps this version so I give up.


	3. I Dedicate the Silence to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy comes home.

A long breath seeps from between chapped lips. Almost like a balloon deflating.   
“Where do you want me?”   
Billy’s voice is low, hungered. The longing to it edged like burnished steel.   
  
At the question Sean’s hazel eyes widen, but only for a second. He knows better than to reveal himself so quickly, even if he desperately wishes to.   
He moistens his lips and blinks.  
A “Jesus Christ” echoes in Dignam’s mind as he studies Billy shifting from foot to foot in the hallway. He no longer looks like the scared kid Sean had driven to the bus station. Months of freedom forged a new Costigan. Longer hair, more muscle. Standing tall and proud.   
Desire has set fire to his angel blues and Sean can’t pray his way out of this one even if he tried. And why the hell would he want to?!  
Could you get sexier, Billy? His throbbing cock asks. _  
_  
Sean opens his mouth but silence swallows the words. _Just fuckin’ get in here already and kiss me_ the cells in his body scream _._

Billy can read every seemingly imperceptible twitch of muscle, even through a fog of pure need.   
He’s been trained to notice any sign of agitation or… excitement. Nothing honed those skills more than a year of watching his back while undercover.   
This… this is a different brand of excitement. The good kind. The kind that normally doesn’t end up with someone taking a bullet but finishes in a litany of “Oh God” and proper names.   
  
The stiffening of Sean’s stance and the visible hard swallow reassure Billy. Still, he will require more than this. Billy won’t move unless he’s sure it’s okay that...  
  
****

Sean won’t move unless he’s sure it’s okay that…

Sean sees Billy before Billy sees him.   
Jesus he looks good. Face more relaxed, longer beard. The fit of his jacket shows he’s been working out.   
Sean rubs his fingers through his dark hair like his head has a pain in it.   
Billy.   
Billy.   
Fucking Billy Costigan.   
Sean won’t move unless he’s sure it’s okay that….   
  
Fuck! He can barely keep it together. Sean huddles a moment behind a beam to compose himself. Closes his eyes and summons a deep breath. It’s been so long and just the sight of Costigan has his heart thundering. What would happen if he touched him? Hugged him? Dragged his hand under the softness of his shirt and down into the front of his…?

Billy checks his watch. Rubs his hairy chin with his free hand and then drops it to pluck nervously at the cuff of his shirt. Where the fuck is Sean?! Did he forget?  
Standing by Arrivals Billy waits impatiently. He doesn't know what to do with himself.    
It’s one minute and then two and then…   
And then there he is: Dignam. All the blood and its heat leaves Billy’s face and settles in his crotch when he sees Sean pass through the sliding doors.  
   
“Billy,” Sean’s voice cracks, gaze stuck on Billy.   
“Sean… “ the ache in his chest almost makes it explode when he utters the name.

Sean’s heartbeat thuds louder and louder but he doesn’t let on.   
The men shake hands as if they only met, vision tunneling for both.    
We shook hands?! Who the fuck shakes hands after what we did together?! they both ponder.   
  
Sean says something stupid about the Red Sox to confuse his brain wanting nothing else but to kiss William Costigan in the middle of goddamn Logan airport. Billy shrugs off the want stretching his voice high and tight when he replies with something awful about the Yankees.   
They walk to the car in silence, the rough wrap on the handle of his duffle bag a welcome sensation on Billy’s palm and much needed relief from standing toes-out on lust’s ledge.   
  
Sean wants to touch Billy, but there’s a ghost sitting between them in the sedan.   
Billy wants to touch Sean, but there’s a ghost sitting between them in the sedan.   
  
The spirit multiplies into _ghosts_. It goes from Queenan to Sean telling him about what happened to Costello and the crew in the warehouse. About who the rat was all along.   
“Jesus fucking Christ didn’t we have our heads so far up our asses,” Sean self-admonishes.   
Billy finally tells Sean about Delahunt. How Delahunt had begged not to be put into a dumpster. How Billy fucked up by not consoling him and just uttered “When you’re dead it makes no difference where they put you.”   
That, of course, before Delahunt basically outed Costigan and himself as cops and then kindly, almost mercifully, expired.

“Where am I staying?” Billy asks, fidgeting with his lighter as he scrutinizes his reflection in the window. Sean clears his throat. The words he wants to say ring through his mind like a cymbal crash.   
_I missed you, kid._  
I missed your touch.   
I missed your stupid crooked smile.   
I want you.   
I think I care about you a lot. Jesus, I might even fucking love you.   
  
“At mine,” he replies instead of confessing his true feelings. “I’ve got room. The divorce left me with 2 free bedrooms and an empty finished basement, makes no sense for you to go living at the Y or some shitty apartment. I owe you that much after everything you’ve been through.”   
  
The pleasant smell of Sean’s car deodorant wafts over, like a snowflake gliding on a gentle breeze. Billy’s nostrils flare and he just nods. Inside he’s grinning like a lazy cat stretching out under the spring sun.   
“Thanks Sean,” is all he can muster before choking up.   
  
****  
  
Sean blinks and brings his fingers to the top button of his shirt. Never takes his eyes from Billy’s.   
That’s when the moth-wing flutter in Billy’s chest starts.  
The grandfather clock downstairs pushes the seconds forward in time. The mechanism makes a metallic clack echo through the house and its keeping a quarter of the time to the blond’s quickening heartbeat.

Tick tock tick tock  
Billy watches Sean, his large frame shadowing the doorway of his bedroom.   
Elbows tight at his sides, one hand trembles slightly against denim.  Billy’s other palm cradles his duffle with a death grip.   
_Fuck._  
I never shake, Billy thinks. I _never_ fucking shake and just looking at you undress is making me so fucking soft…   
  
Sean doesn’t say a word. Just nimbly unbuttons his way down until cotton ends up on the floor. Bare-chested now he goes lower.   
When something flickers in the back of Billy’s intense gaze Sean gives him a whisk of a smile and continues.   
The sound of a buckle unclasping sends Billy over the edge.

****  
  
Sean hovers above Billy’s turgid cock, teasing. Breath hot and dry, like opening an oven door against skin that begs only to be moistened by spit and cum and sweat.

“Sean...” the name burns on his tongue like a shot of bourbon.  
Dignam climbs him until he reaches his muscled chest. Licking up the hollow of his throat to his stubbly chin until he passes his tongue over Billy’s parched lips.

Sean groans, bites into the Cupid’s bow lip like it’s a wedge of dried fruit and that’s when Billy bucks and shudders. Heat curls down his spine and Billy begs, lower back arched with need.   
“Sean for the love of god _please_...”  
Sean slides down with a barely visible upturn to his mouth, leaving a glistening trail down Billy’s stomach.

“Sean… _please_.”   
There it is again. This time Billy’s large hands sift Sean’s hair in time to his dips. Billy drifts towards Sean’s heat like smoke to a vent and when he’s on the verge of coming, only then, does he rap on heaven’s door.  
“Oh God Sean fuck oh God… “

Jesus fuck Billy tastes good. When his spend is done being licked and swallowed by Sean’s willing mouth, William Costigan eases back from the light into the inky blackness behind his lids once more.   
“I want you,” he grins at Sean when his eyes pop open.    
  
Sean doesn’t need to be asked twice. A shuffle of sheets mask Dignam’s low groan. Sean pushing his hands deeper into the springs below them brings Billy back to the moment.

Billy shuts his eyes and accepts Sean’s length as he tests their connection only with touch. Sean’s back ripples, dressed only in goosebumps, as he disappears inside him.   
“I missed you, Billy” Sean jumbles together once he’s moving within. “God, I missed you…”   
“Me too,” Billy’s periwinkle blink says. It’s still all a little too easy. Too light.   
“Take me harder,” his heavy voice begs as the request pricks the air and makes it bleed desire.

Sean obliges. Lust slithers between Billy’s temples, fogging his thoughts. Greedily his warmth takes whatever Sean can give him and Christ Billy needs more.  
“More…” the _re_ lost somewhere in their breathing space sucked up by the Boston accent.

Without looking Billy wraps his legs around Sean possessively, coaxing him in deeper. Nails push into Sean’s ass and when he’s in to the hilt, Costigan turns his face to the pillow, the scent of lingering cologne inebriating him further.

Cologne.

Sean’s cologne.

Sean who is fucking him literally blind.   
I’m in Sean’s house in Sean’s bed and Sean’s inside me and Mother Mary of God…

Bill’s view glazes over. His breath stalls. Jesus he’s close… so fucking close. Sean picks up on it and slows... angles down for a kiss. Nips at Billy’s lobe and whispers  
“Look at me. Look at me, Billy. I see you. I see _you_.”

Glimpses of the strong body moving atop him, the loving tenderness moistening Sean’s ivy eyes… it makes Billy’s limbs tremble and his opening clench. Sean comes a second later with a flutter of eyelash and a lazy moan.   
  
Billy’s hands grip Sean’s biceps as he sits up to claim his mouth almost angrily, Sean’s sex still pumping languidly into his when he starts to suck on his tongue. When they break from the needy kiss with gasps and groans, Sean sinks into him immediately, a sweaty, frenzied mess on his pec.   
With a voice so quiet you could drown it out by exhaling Sean declares “You were on the other side of my every breath, Bill.”    
If he didn’t lose him then, what’s he got to lose now?!  
  
Billy’s gaze takes hold of him, as if he’s just appeared from another plane, and he bares himself too.  Tracing the length of Sean’s face gently with his shaky pinky finger, thoughts jab and poke at Costigan like sharp utensils. (Much like the first night they made love, except now he’s no longer afraid of dying).   
“You brought me back from the Departed, sarge… “   
  
Billy means it. Not just in the literal sense. He hasn’t felt this _alive_ in years. Sean’s gaze hits the mattress like a dropped coin. His cheeks pink up.   
"Bill... you know that... "  
“Sean, hey… “ Billy coaxes his attention back with a gentle nudge of his arm and a firm kiss on his slightly parted mouth. No need. He knows.   
He knows.   
There’s a wrinkle to Sean’s eyes and a twitch to his button nose.   
“Don’t leave, Bill. _Please_ don’t leave again.”

Billy swallows his courage, words dripping wet with affection.   
“I ain’t leavin’, Sean. As long as you want me here, I ain’t fuckin’ leavin’ again…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. Life has been... interesting. I've taken numerous liberties here so please just enjoy as is.

**Author's Note:**

> “There are only two kinds of people in the world, The Irish and those who wish they were.”
> 
> Hope you liked it! It was really hard not to walk around for days with a Boston accent for my inner voice. Anyway I don't think these two are out of my system yet and I'd like to write some smut for them so perhaps there's at least another story here if y'all liked it.


End file.
